


Sugar and Soup and a Brave Little Group

by FleuretteFfoulkes



Series: At a Call from the Chief—At the Cry of the Wretched [2]
Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, death of parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleuretteFfoulkes/pseuds/FleuretteFfoulkes
Summary: The League's latest rescue had a last-minute addition: an orphaned little girl. Jeremiah doesn't know very much about talking to children, but he does his best.
Series: At a Call from the Chief—At the Cry of the Wretched [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062887
Kudos: 3
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Fifteen





	Sugar and Soup and a Brave Little Group

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the square "Food and Cooking" on my Trope Bingo card.

Since the Chief had remained in Paris, it was Andrew who was the acknowledged leader of their small band of travelers, and thus it was Andrew who called a halt for the night. Jeremiah agreed wholeheartedly with the decision (though he thought perhaps a half hour sooner might have been preferable), and none of the other members of the League nor their charges seemed inclined to argue either, after such a long day in saddle and carriage. 

The road had led through this forest for nearly an hour now, and they were now at a point so thick that the carriage could be hidden from view while within only a few meters from the road. It was a route they had taken many times before, and it took them only a few seconds to have the carriage tucked away and brush moved into place to conceal the path they had taken. Once this was completed, it was time to make camp. They still had plenty of travel over enemy ground remaining on the morrow; but for tonight, they were safe.

While the others hiked further into the forest, to a clearing where their fire would not be visible from the road, Jeremiah took care of the horses. He found a thicket where there was at least grass underfoot instead of mud, and led the horses there one by one, tying them to trees far enough apart that they couldn't bother each other and get into trouble. His own mount nuzzled at his pocket, seeking the sugar cubes she knew he kept there, but Jeremiah patted her head without handing them over. He'd want them himself later tonight, to help keep himself awake when it was his turn to keep watch.

By the time he rejoined the others, Andrew and Armand had set a fire and retrieved the cookpot from its hiding place in one of the larger trees, and they had some sort of soup heating up. Jeremiah couldn't smell anything, but it was even odds whether that was just because the soup wasn't hot yet, or because it was destined to be so bland that there would be nothing to smell. By necessity, everyone in the League was a decent enough cook; but meat was hard to come by in revolutionary France, particularly when one was a tall English-looking stranger. English coin could sometimes counter that distrust, but today they had not wished to reveal themselves to anyone, and thus they faced the evening with only one small haunch of lamb to spread among eight—no, nine—people.

At least the ninth was only a child and not likely to eat much. She'd been a last minute addition to the plan, when the disguised Chief had struck up a conversation with one of the prison guards and heard the story of how the little girl's parents had both been guillotined on the same day. Jeremiah—similarly disguised in his dirtiest rags—had been close enough to overhear the guard's tale, and thus had not been at all surprised when, after the Comte and Comtesse de Rive were spirited out of the prison alongside their daughter and her husband, the Chief lifted a small child into the cart next to them before departing with a lazy wave, back to his job cleaning the prison floors.

So far as Jeremiah had heard, the little girl had not said a word on the entire journey. Their other charges had spoken little as well, but at least they were all adults, and were united with their family. Even now, they were clinging to each other as they huddled around the fire, leaning into its meager warmth. As for the girl—Jeremiah peered around the moonlit clearing and finally spied her, cowering against the base of a tree, both arms wrapped a doll.

He kept his steps steady and sure, not wanting to surprise or alarm her. "What's your name?" he asked in French, and sat down cross-legged on the ground next to her. "My name is Jeremiah. I have one daughter, younger than you. She's just learned to walk. Her name is Anne." 

The girl sneaked a quick glance up at him, then returned to staring at her doll.

Jeremiah pictured Anne a few years from now, sitting under a tree and crying like this little girl, and his heart skipped a beat. Every time he sailed over the Channel, he risked leaving his daughter to grow up without a father, but at least she'd still have Mary. This little girl had nobody, so far as he knew. "You're safe now," Jeremiah told her. He clasped his hands in his lap and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. "We're going to take you somewhere where nobody can hurt you. It's okay if you don't want to tell me what your name is. But do you want to tell me what your doll's name is?"

"Charlotte," the girl whispered.

"Charlotte's a very nice name for a doll," Jeremiah said.

"My name is Madeleine," she added, still in a whisper.

"It's very nice to meet you, Madeleine," Jeremiah said. "Do you know your numbers? Can you tell me how old you are?"

Madeleine held up her hand, fingers outstretched. "Five."

"Strewth, five!" Jeremiah said. "That's such a good age. I remember when I was five; I liked it very much." When he'd been five, he hadn't had anything to worry about in all the world. That had been a decade before Mother had died, when Father had still smiled all the time and taken Jeremiah along with him on exciting trips to London. Back then, Jeremiah had been too young for a tutor, and he'd spent most of his days playing. Madeleine's fifth year was going to be much different than his had been, and he wished that somehow he could fix things for her and bring back her parents. Perhaps they were good people, perhaps they were bad; but surely any parents must be better than no parents at all.

"I want Maman," Madeleine said.

"I'm sorry, little one," Jeremiah said. "I wish I could bring you your maman." She looked on the verge of tears, and Jeremiah winced. He knew so little about how to take care of children. How was he going to be a father to Anne in the days to come if he didn't even know how to cheer up one little girl? When he'd been a boy, what had his parents done when he'd been crying? Hugs sometimes, which Madeleine might not appreciate from a stranger. Or encouraging him to go play, which would not be safe at night.

Or candy. Abruptly, Jeremiah patted his pockets, until he found a mostly intact sugar cube. "Would you like a sugar cube?" he asked. He held it out on the palm of his open hand. "I have an extra one." That was a bit of a fib, but he felt certain she needed it more than he did.

Madeleine stared at his hand for a moment, then snatched the sugar away and shoved it into her mouth.

"Would Charlotte like one too?" Jeremiah asked. "You can eat it for her if she doesn't know how to eat."

Madeleine nodded. She took the second sugar cube from his outstretched hand, and held it up to Charlotte's embroidered mouth for a moment before thrusting it into her own mouth. "Charlotte says thank you," she said.

"You're both very welcome," Jeremiah said. "I don't think you'd better have any more right now or you'll spoil your dinner, but once you've had your soup, you can each have one more sugar cube before bed." He flattered himself that that dictate sounded appropriately knowledgeable and parental.

She nodded, and didn't say anything.

Jeremiah wondered if he had overstayed his welcome. He wasn't very good at talking to children, after all. Not like the Chief, who could be friends with anybody within two minutes of meeting them. "Well then, I'll just go see if the soup's almost ready," Jeremiah said.

"No, don't go Sheri...Sherimy-my?"

He sat back down. "Jeremiah," he said. "Or you can just call me Miah. That's what my family used to call me."

"Miah." Madeleine held out her doll and set it in his lap. "Charlotte wants you to stay."

"Well, I wouldn't want Charlotte to be unhappy," Jeremiah said. "I'll stay here, and then when they tell us that the soup is ready we can go get some together." He smiled at her, though the effect was probably lost in the dim moonlight. "When we get to England, do you think Charlotte would want to meet my Anne? You could bring her to visit us if you want." Jeremiah wasn't sure how he would explain their guest to Mary, given that he had told her he was in Scotland on business, and there were few five-year-old French orphans to be found in Scotland. But perhaps the Chief would agree that it was time Jeremiah told his wife what he was really doing. (Perhaps she'd already guessed; Mary was a very intelligent woman.) And once he explained what had happened to Madeleine's family, Jeremiah felt certain Mary would agree with him that Madeleine needed looking after. Hopefully they'd be able to find her family—Jeremiah suspected the Chief was already investigating everything he could in that regard, back in Paris—but if not, Jeremiah figured he was as good a person as any to look after her.

Madeleine crept closer until she was leaning against his side. Jeremiah put an arm around her and patted her head. "You and Charlotte are going to be all right," he said. "I'll make sure of it."


End file.
